Rotten rubbish bin
A few years ago, I returned from a two-week summer holiday to find my back garden looking like the setting for a midget version of I'm A Nonentity Get Me Out Of Here. Time to drag the lawnmower out of the shed then.

A few minutes later I was working up a sweat which must have left me smelling pretty rank, before unhitching the mower's grass box and setting off up the garden to empty it into the brown bin, that chocolate-hued two-wheeled device for kitchen and garden rubbish we had recently been given by the council. What I didn't know is a) some old fruit and vegetable remnants had been left in the bottom of the bin while we had been away on holiday and b) said two weeks had been unseasonably hot for an English summer. Said food waste had therefore turned to unrecognisable sludge.

As I opened the bin to empty the grass in, the most extreme incredible stench hit my nostrils. It was as if Satan himself had given himself an enema, then re-ingested the contents and shat them back out again. Baby poo covering a hundred rotting corpses could not have smelled worse.

I dropped the grass box and almost keeled over, before spewing up the (thankfully small amount of) food in my gut at the time onto the patio. A quick spray with the hosepipe got rid of that, and I then emptied what grass I hadn't spilled everywhere into a plastic bin sack. I don't recall who eventually dealt with the putrid horrors in the brown bin - someone else's problem of course.
(FirstBendBunching All four back please..., Fri 17 Jan 2014, 17:40, Reply)